


I Can't Not Be With You

by Burning_Up_A_Sun



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Disney World, Florida, Happy Ending, Healer Harry Potter, M/M, Single Parent Draco Malfoy, Snark, no one cheats
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27831925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/Burning_Up_A_Sun
Summary: Harry is a Concierge Healer, making house calls to the wealthy and famous in luxury vacation spots. This month it's Disney World. But he's hiding the biggest part of himself from his live-in boyfriend, who has no idea that Harry is a Wizard. When he's called to see a patient at Disney's Wizarding property, he's in for the surprise of his life.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 65
Kudos: 89
Collections: 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020





	1. Breakfast on the Lanai

**Author's Note:**

> For the past 4? 5? Years I've written for the 25 Days of Harry and Draco Advent Festival, or 25 pics for 25 fics as I like to call it. 
> 
> This year feels rough, like I'm starting over from zero. I haven't written anything since like, April. I've played a lot of candy crush. Made a tiktok account of our crafting. Done a shit ton of reading (HP fit of course), but not one word. 
> 
> Please hang with me as I work the wobbles out of my training wheels. Maybe it's rubbish and I've forgotten how to write, or maybe it will be amazing. that's what I'm shooting for, anyway. ♥ ♥ ♥
> 
> Chapter 1 is loosely based on this pic 
> 
> The title comes from the Fall Out Boy song, [Hold Me Tight or Don't](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jG1JY0rt2Os)

Dylan pressed a mug of steaming coffee into Harry’s grasp, holding on until he was certain Harry was awake enough to register what it was.

“According to the weather lady, it’s gonna be a beautiful day.” Dylan stepped back into the kitchen, and when he reappeared, he held two plates of bacon and scrambled eggs, biscuits, and grits.

Harry hated grits. It was mealy and soupy and looked enough like oatmeal that the taste was confusing. And mealy. And soupy.

He grimaced at the grits then switched it to a smile. It _was_ kind of Dyl to cook for him. Still clutching his coffee, Harry took the plate from Dylan, nudging the patio chair leg so Dyl could sit. He set the plate on the wrought iron table but held onto the mug.

“So I was thinkin’, maybe we could do somethin today? Somethin fun?” Dylan smiled, full and carefree, his teeth bright against his tanned skin. “We could go to the beach, grab lunch at one of the bars? Or go to one of the theme parks?”

Harry sipped his coffee, ignoring his grits in the hopes that if he couldn’t see them, they might disappear. If Dylan turned away, Harry could use wandless magic to make them disappear before Dylan looked back. But how would he explain the missing bowl?

Three years in America, in the south. In Florida, which he found out was kind of the south, but kind of not. It was like Floridians picked and pulled Southern things they liked (sweet tea, and y’all, and grits) and avoided things they didn’t (thick drawling accents, Baptists, and biscuits & gravy) to create a culture all their own.

It made no sense to Harry. But he loved it. Skipped out of cold, grey London the minute his Healer training ended to whatever far away vacation destination needed a Concierge Healer.

St. Tropez, Bora Bora, the Virgin Islands. Sun. Sand. And Harry Potter, doctor to the wealthy.

The bowl of grits was still there. Harry moved it off his plate and picked at the eggs as Dylan rambled on about the National Seashore or Cape Canaveral or y’know--Dyl paused as if he had just had a brilliant idea. “Disney. Magic Kingdom, Epcot, Animal Kingdom, Hollywood Studios! Yes!” and he was off again, something about Star Wars or Star Trek or something.

American bacon, though. Now that was seriously brilliant. Thick slices of smoked bacon. Warm and delicious. The best thing about America. Harry demolished his bacon, picked at the eggs, and left the grits untouched.

“Umhmmm.” Harry punctuated Dylan’s monologue when he stopped for a breath without committing to anything.

“So? Hollywood Studios then?”

“Dyl, what about the pandemic?” Harry finished his coffee and shook his head as if not going to Disney were a true sadness. “It’s not safe.”

Dylan smiled, pumped it up a notch to 100 watts, and winked at Harry. “Oh, we’ll be fine. We have masks and hand sanitizer and we can, y’know. Social distance. I’m dying to see the new Star Wars stuff!” He trailed his bare foot up Harry’s calf as if he thought sex might help sell the idea.

“Dying?” Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Look. Everyone else is out living their best life right now. And we’re like right by the parks, and all y’all keep saying to me is--” Dylan raised his hands and shook them like he was hysterical. _”Pandemic! Coronavirus! Covid 19.”_ He pushed away from the table and grabbed his full plate and stalked into the kitchen. “Like, I’m kinda sick of it. We don’t even know if it’s real.”

Harry sighed and looked out across the lake that lay next to their flat. Their apartment complex. Whatever. Barely 10 am on December 18th and it was already close to 30 degrees. 86 degrees. It really shouldn’t be this hot in December. Christmas just never felt right without a cold nose and one lost mitten.

Dylan scraped his breakfast into the sink, bitching under his breath. Harry slid his plate onto the counter and draped himself over Dylan’s back. “I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly, nuzzling behind Dylan’s ear. “I don’t mean to be an idiot. I’m just not that good a Heal--uh, doctor to fix you if you get Covid.”

Dyl scoffed, but didn’t interrupt Harry.

“Maybe we can drive to the beach, and you can teach me to surf. You’ve wanted to teach me for months.”

“Do you want to learn?” Dylan asked with a bit of snark. Harry could have kicked himself; he hadn’t meant to phrase it that way.

“Umhmmm,” Harry said, turning Dylan toward him. He was pretty sure Dylan Langolin wasn’t the love of his life, but he was fun and he was here. And his rock hard abs were pretty alright.

Harry kissed him, and Dylan forgave him as he dragged Harry back to their bedroom.

And Harry’s phone rang.

“Ignore it,” Dylan whispered into Harry’s neck as he tugged at the pajama pants.  
“I want to, but I can’t. You know that.” Harry gently removed Dylan’s hand and fumbled for his phone under the junk on top of the bureau.

“Yes. This is Dr. Potter....ok, yes. Text me the address. Cheers.” Harry turned back toward Dylan whose face said he already knew. “I have to go. It’s a special family in one of the bungalows.”

Dylan stared in silence. The playfulness of a moment ago was now rigid and cold as snow. "You mean uber wealthy."

“Dylan, this is my job. This is what I do. I’m a doctor who makes house calls, and I get paid really well to do it.” Harry said, exasperation tinging his voice. He chose a pair of suit trousers and a starched, white dress shirt. His tie had hidden Mickeys. “You know this. We’ve talked about it before.”

“Yeah. Your job comes first. Maybe someday, if I’m a really good boy, y’all might choose me first.” Dylan stormed out of the bedroom. Harry could hear the dishes being flung into the dishwasher, then a crash and a loud “Motherfucker.”

Maybe Dylan was right, Harry thought. He hadn’t taken a vacation in over a year, mostly because this job just seemed like a vacation. He didn’t work all that often, but--well, maybe it was more than he thought.

He slipped his phone and keys into his pocket, then reached into the back of his sock drawer. He whispered _Finite Incantatum_ and the back of the drawer revealed the hiding spot for his wand. He shut the drawer, tucked the wand into his ankle holster, and headed back to the kitchen.

Dylan was on the floor picking up shards of ceramic plate with his bare fingers.

“You’re right.”

Dylan looked up, his eyes wide. “What?”

“You’re right. It’s not fair. I should be back from this patient around noon. We’ll grab some clothes, find a nice hotel with a heated pool somewhere over by the beach. Just us and the seagulls. Okay?”

Dyl’s smile was back. “I’ll pack for us, but not too many clothes.” He winked and blew Harry a kiss as he headed out the door.

Once he was alone, Harry cast a _Notice Me Not_ spell on his Jeep and apparated to the address. He recognized it as one of Disney’s Wizarding properties and magic seemed easier than fighting Orlando’s lunchtime traffic.

He felt the familiar pull of apparation twisting him into nothing until he landed softly in front of Bungalow 12. It was just like Disney to call these mini-mansions 'bungalows.' No car, so not a Floridian or something almost local.

Harry took the few steps easily and rapped twice on the door. “Doctor,” he called out, knowing from experience that his title made things easier.

The door opened and two thoughts collided in Harry’s mind.

Jesus Christ, it was Draco Fucking Malfoy.

And he was fucking _hot._


	2. Bungalow Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco Malfoy is Harry's patient, or at least is the one who called for the doctor. 
> 
> This chapter is sponsored by this adorable mug set:  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to refind my groove. I used to go to McDonald's every day to write. Now I'm home with 4 online college kids and 1 high school kid also online. Mr. Sun is using our bedroom as his office. So I'm trying to eke out time and space for me. And last night I fell asleep before I could open the computer to write.

“Oh, for fuck’s--” Malfoy took one look at Harry and shook his head in disgust. He grabbed the phone next to the inside front door and stabbed at the buttons on the number pad. 

He didn’t let the person on the other end of the phone speak; Malfoy just launched into a tirade. “I paid your frankly outrageous fees because I’d been assured that no riff-raff, no vagrants would harass us--Only to find one right on my doorstep.”

Harry squawked out, “What now?” Malfoy’s polite words managed to be simultaneously posh and scathing. A wave of something flooded Harry. It felt like being homesick, for Molly Weasley, and warm, full hugs and Sunday dinners, and the first day back at Hogwarts after too long hols with the Dursleys. 

Harry pushed those feelings down. He was here to do his job, a job that he was frankly brilliant at, and no matter what level of tosser Malfoy was striving for, Harry wasn’t going to rise to the bait this time. 

“Hang up, Malfoy, for Christ’s sake--” Harry tried to speak over Malfoy who was focused on telling the security guard was an utter and complete imbecile he was for letting Potter through. 

With his right hand, Harry performed a quick masking spell that he’d created to prevent germ transmission or reception. With his left hand he grabbed the receiver from Malfoy’s hand and slammed it into its cradle. “That’s Dr. Potter to you, Malfoy. Or Healer Potter, whichever you prefer.” He pushed past Malfoy, into the marble foyer, making sure to nudge his elbow into Malfoy’s arm. 

And if the giant swirl of whipped cream in the ridiculous snowman mug smushed into the arm of his probably Cashmere jumper, it didn’t matter one bit to Harry. 

Malfoy howled about his jumper being ruined, but really who wore Cashmere when it was hot out? Or drank hot chocolate? Harry ignored Malfoy's dramatics and sat in a wingback chair in the Sitting Room, feeling smug. Molly Weasley always said, “It doesn’t matter how pretty the chicken is; if she’s ugly inside, the eggs will wind up rotten.”

Well, it made sense when _she_ said it. Malfoy might be hot, but he was still the same twatwaffle he’d been at Hogwarts. 

“Are you coming? Or do you want a different doctor?” Harry asked, digging through his black bag and pulling out his stethoscope. Most of the items in the bag were Wizard items: potions, tinctures, a diagnostic wand he’d designed. Some were Muggle items, like his stethoscope and his new infrared thermometer. Occasionally he crossed over, using a stethoscope for Wizards or a discreet spell on a Muggle, but mostly he kept them separated.

But today? Harry sensed that Muggle instruments would crawl up under Malfoy’s skin and fester, the thought of which made Harry smirk.

“Alright,” Harry said, smiling brighter when Malfoy sniffed with disgust as he entered the sitting room. 

“A Muggle contraption, Potter? Really?” Malfoy sat on the loveseat across the room from Harry. With the curtains open, morning sun streamed through the oversized double window, directly into Harry’s eyes. 

Harry thought Malfoy might be grinning, but he was sun-blind and couldn’t be sure. No way he was going to shield his eyes or show any weakness. He wouldn’t give Malfoy that satisfaction. If only he’d brought his sunglasses. _Or remembered you’re a Wizard,_ he thought with embarrassment. With a flick of his wrist, the heavy drapes scooted closed, and Harry could mostly see Malfoy, save for the weird green sun shape in his vision. 

Harry waggled the stethoscope at Malfoy. “Shirt off, undershirt off if you’re wearing one. Pants off, too.”

“Wha--what?” Malfoy sputtered. “I’m not getting naked for you, you absolute bellend.”

“Well I guess this house call is over. The $500 fee still stands. You can transfer it to my Gringotts, or I take American Express. If I trusted you, I would let you Venmo me, but no.”

Harry shoved the stethoscope back into the bag, spilling the Tincture of Firefly all over the other bottles. “Fuck fuck dammit fuck. That’s--aagh, that took me months to infuse.” He pulled his wand from his ankle holster and siphoned off the excess liquid. 

It was Harry’s most difficult potion, taking no fewer than three months worth of fireflies caught on the night of the full moon and only between nine and ten pm. It smelled like warm nights and smoky campfires and something he could only describe as _hope._ The hope of a small child, the way they believe completely in their dreams of a happy future. And lavender. This was his potion, his creation, and Harry used it when his patients needed a moment of peace, something to remind them Good still existed in the world. 

“That smells--nice,” Malfoy said. He’d moved from the couch to the matching wingback and was peeking over Harry’s hands, trying to see what he’d spilled. 

“Yeah, well--thanks,” Harry said, not knowing what to say and just remembering he was pissed off at Malfoy. 

“Look, I’m not trying to be an arse--”

Harry snorted at that as he snapped the bag shut. The snick of the lock catch almost echoed in the silence. 

“--but it’s not that I won’t get naked for you. It’s that --.” Malfoy’s face flamed as he realized what he’d said. “I mean, I won’t get--I mean, I didn't call you for me. My son is sick.”

“You can keep your clothes on then,” Harry stood abruptly and caught his bag as it fell off his lap. He followed Malfoy up the hallway to a partially closed door. “Where is he and what’s going on? Ear ache? Probably Swimmer’s Ear. Pretty common down here. Unless it’s a break or a gator bite, it’s usually Swimmer’s Ear.”

“No, he hasn’t been bitten by a gator,” Malfoy said, pushing the door open all the way. His son lay in the Queen size bed. He turned over but didn’t open his eyes, just mumbled _Can we go to Disney now, Papa?_

Malfoy gently pushed his son’s hair away from his forehead then brushed his lips where the hair had been. “Not just yet, baby. I brought someone to help you feel better. His name is Doctor Harry.”

Malfoy stood and made room for Harry to sit on the bed. “Don’t fuck this up, Potter. And don’t let him down.”


	3. My Little Quarantine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry examines Scorpius and quickly realizes he needs to examine Draco, also.
> 
> Brought to you by these, buried in Harry's physician's satchel:
> 
> TW/CW: Discussion of Covid 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am chugging along. thank you for your patience and kind words. xox

Harry took Malfoy’s place on the bed, tucked up next to the boy’s legs. He was pale with red splotches high on his cheeks and had barely cracked his eyes open when Harry sat down. 

“This is my son, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy,” Malfoy said, brushing his son’s forehead with his lips. “You may call him Master Malfoy.” He’d meant to sound cold and commanding, as if that would work on Harry, but instead he sounded worried and exhausted. 

“Scorpius, this is Dr. Harry.” Malfoy waited as his son looked at Harry, as if he were weighing whether to trust him. “Please answer his questions the best you can."

Harry pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose and watched. He’d give Malfoy this. It was clear how deeply he loved his son—in the gentle touches, the fear nipping around the edges of his calm. He’d always assumed that Malfoy would grow up into an exact copy of Lucius. Silent, judgmental, apart. It never occurred to him Malfoy could be warm and kind. 

“The first thing I like to do,” Harry said, rooting through his bag and tossing items helter-skelter onto the bed. He held up a pair of hedgehog gloves, tossed them aside, cheered and held up something for Scorpius to see, “Is introduce you to Wandy McWandface.” Scorpius giggled softly, and Harry pretended to be offended. “What? Don’t you like that name? I named him m’self!” 

Scorpius laughed again, and Harry mimed soothing his wand, hugging it and giving it a kiss, then passed the wand to Scorpius to examine. “Now. You’ve seen a wand before, right? Your Papa has one?”

With Scorpius’ small nod, Harry continued. “I made this one special. It will help me figure out why you don’t feel good.”

“I’ve been to the healer loads of times,” Scorpius whispered. Harry turned to Malfoy who was still standing at the foot of the bed, his face impassive.

 _Why was this kid always at the healer?_ Harry squirreled that information away for the moment, but made a mental note to ask again later.

“Before we start, here’s a game I like to play with my patients: red means stop. Green means go. Yellow means I’m afraid. Can you remember that?” 

“Of course I can,” Scorpius said, sounding like a Malfoy in miniature. “I’m not a baby. Red means stop, green go. Yellow means--” his voice wobbled as he said, “I’m scared.” 

“Brilliant!” Harry took back the wand. “As we go through your examination, I’ll ask you for a color. You just answer the best you can, ok?”

Scorpius nodded, then winced. He rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes. 

“Looks like your head hurts. Let’s start there. What color?” Harry held his wand and waited until Scorpius whispered _green._

Harry scanned Scorpius, moving his wand deliberately from left to right from head to sole. 

“What is it, Potter?” Malfoy demanded, taking the wand from Harry’s hand and shaking it. “What does it say?” His face was pale--not as pale as his son’s, but paler than Harry would have liked.

“Nothing if you don’t know the diagnostic spells. Give it back.” Harry shook his head at Malfoy, as if to say _Are you fucking kidding me?_ “You’re paying me to do my job. Now let me do it.”

Malfoy grumbled something that sounded like, “Goddamn self-righteous Gryffindor asshole.” 

Pretty much exactly like that. 

“So, when did you get here?” Harry asked, synching his wand to his iPhone and reviewing the data. 

“Last evening around 7:00 Florida time. We took a late Portkey.” Malfoy tugged at the collar of his jumper and dragged it off, over his head where it got stuck for a moment. He finally wiggled it off and threw it to the floor. “It’s hot in here. It’s just so hot everywhere here. For Merlin’s sake, it’s December. It’s not meant to be hot.”

 _Two exams for the price of one, then,_ Harry thought, watching Malfoy who was too pale and possibly feverish.

“I’m sorry, Papa.” Scorpius’ eyes were still closed, but Harry thought he saw tears at the long white lashes. “I didn’t mean to get you sick, too.”

“No!” Malfoy crawled up the bed and lay next to Scorpius. “You didn’t get me sick, sweetheart.” He locked pinkies with Scorpius and promised. 

“I’ll check you out too, Malf--Draco, as soon as I’m done with Scorpius.” Harry was surprised when Malfoy nodded in agreement. 

Harry stroked Scorpius’ forehead, partially to know how hot he felt, but also to see if he’d fallen asleep. Scorpius’ eyes fluttered open, and Harry didn’t like how difficult it seemed for him to keep them open. “Alright. So far, my wand told me that you have a headache and a low grade fever. I’d like to use some of my Muggle instruments. Is that okay with you?”

“Yellow,” Scorpius whispered. “I’m afraid.” His lips trembled, and he moved closer to his father. Draco held him close and said something Harry couldn’t hear. 

“What if I show you each instrument and tell you what it does before I use it?”

Scorpius nodded, and Harry held up the first instrument. “This is an--well, never mind the fancy name. This will let me look in your ears and at your throat. There’s a little light. See?”

Harry shined the light onto the palm of his hand so Scorpius could see. “Is that alright?”

Scorpius smiled weakly. “Green.”

Harry carried on, explaining his Otoscope, his stethoscope, his tongue depressor and then using each. Scorpius said aaaah! Took deep breaths and breathed out slowly. Harry even checked for abnormal swelling in the lymph nodes and organs, squeezing and prodding until Scorpius was giggling and shouting “Red! Red!” It was the first bit of life he’d seen in the 7 year old. 

With a quick wave of his wand, Harry sterilized the instruments, and together he and Scorpius examined Malfoy, whose temperature was higher and when threatened at wand point, acknowledged that he felt like he’d been-- “What do you Americans say? Rode hard and put up wet?” 

Harry snorted. “I have literally never heard an American say that. Has your dad been watching too much American telly?”

Scorpius giggled but held on to his dad tighter, as if he could protect him. 

“Well, I’m fairly certain you will both live,” Harry said, pretending to be grave and serious. He packed Wandy McWandface and his other instruments into his bag. 

“That’s good,” Malfoy said just before a giant sneeze. 

“It is, because otherwise it would be bad for business,” Harry said. “But…”

“But? What but?” Malfoy demanded weakly. 

“Chicken butt!” Scorpius yelled as loud as he could, which wasn’t very loud before he winced in pain. 

“Did you have a Covid-19 test before you took the Portkey?” Harry asked, all whimsy vanished.

“No, I--I mean--they said we could but we didn’t have to.” Malfoy struggled to sit up in the bed. 

Harry really didn’t like how pale Malfoy was. “So, worldwide pandemic, you’re traveling, and you think, why bother?”

“It wasn’t like that at all,” Malfoy sputtered, but Harry cut him off. 

“I’m sure it wasn’t. And were you the only two to take that Portkey?”

Draco shook his head, his mouth shut into a hard, straight line. 

“Without a Covid test, I can’t be 100% sure. You both could just have a nasty case of the flu. Low grade fever, aches and pain, headache, runny nose. Symptoms of both the flu and Covid. I can’t know.”

“What do you mean you can’t know?” Malfoy tried to growl, but it just sounded pathetic--whispy and exhausted. 

“Well, I do know this. None of us are going anywhere for at least a week. We’re quarantined here. Together.”


	4. Interesting Bedtime Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor Harry examines his two patients, but learns that Draco has told his son all about Harry Potter, the Saviour.
> 
> Today's Photo prompt; 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this. I really appreciate your kindness. you really have no idea.

“Quarantined? QuaranTINED?” The splotches on Malfoy’s cheeks grew with each word. “With YOU?”

Malfoy struggled to sit up, and Harry worried about how labored his breathing seemed. “I don’t--”

“I don’t care what you do or don’t, Potter. We didn’t come to Florida to be stuck in a room with--”

“Potter?” Scorpius’ eyes were wide between each slow blink. “Doctor Harry is Harry Potter?”

“Shhh,” Malfoy said, waving his hand to shush Scorpius, but Scorpius shouted over him in excitement. 

“Doctor Harry! You’re The Boy Who Lived! You saved everyone! You saved my Papa, and my Grand-mère and my Grande-père!” 

“I didn’t--”

“He really didn’t--”

Harry and Malfoy said at the same time, one louder than the other, but that still didn’t stop Scorpius who was bouncing on the mattress with more energy than he’d had the entire time Harry had been there. 

“You said so, Papa! Whenever you tell me that story at bedtime, you say _And Harry Potter saved us all, and I thank Merlin every day._ And then you say, _If I ever saw him again, I would probably hug him so hard!”_

“What the fuuu--” Harry said then remembered not to cuss in front of a child. 

“Are you going to hug Doctor Harry _now,_ Papa?”

“That’s quite enough, Scorpius. Quite enough. It’s time for you to rest now.” 

Scorpius fussed, but apparently knew better than to argue. He crawled back up to his pillow and buried himself in the blankets.

“Doctor Potter, I’ll join you in the sitting room in a moment.” Draco held his hand toward the open bedroom door. 

Harry knew when he was being dismissed, but before he left the room, he squatted down near Scorpius. “I’m just Doctor Harry, ok? If you need me, just holler.”

Scorpius’ eyes were the same stormy grey as his father’s, but not quite the same shape. A little rounder, a little closer together. 

_Who’s his mother,_ Harry wondered as grabbed his doctor bag and returned to the living room. _Parkinson? Bulstrode?_ He’d heard something about him dating a Greengrass daughter. But none of them seemed like a good match for Malfoy. 

He heard Malfoy whispering furiously to Scorpius, probably getting a lecture about all the Saint Harry stuff. Harry pretended not to hear; instead he stood by the large picture window, tapping on the glass to get the cardinal’s attention. 

“I must apologize for my son--” Malfoy breathed in heavily, and Harry worried he might faint. He helped Malfoy to the couch and sat him down. With a quick motion, Harry summoned a bottle of water from the kitchenette. 

“Drink this,” Harry said firmly, leaving no room for argument. While Malfoy sipped, Harry used his diagnostic wand to check his vitals. “Your temperature is 100.5. Not quite a fever, but I’m betting that even on your worst days, you have more energy than this.”

Harry popped two paracetamol out of a blister pack he kept in his bag. “Take these. We’ll see if your temperature goes down.”

Malfoy did as he was told, which was shocking on its own. But then he said, “He was right, you know.” 

Harry tried to wave him off, but Malfoy paid no attention to him. “You did save all of us, but especially Mother and me. You didn’t have to testify on our behalves. You could have taken your hero’s due, gone on a long vacation. Merlin knows you deserved it--”

Harry felt his face flush. Ten years on and words like these still embarrassed him. “I did what was fair. If y’all hadn’t done what you did, I couldn’t have done what I did. You two didn’t deserve to go to Azkaban.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow and said, “I need you never to do that. Ever again.”

“What? Be nice to you?” Harry laughed in disbelief. _This wanker. This total wanker._

“No. I need you never to use that word again. _Y’all._ Merlin help us, you’ve gone native.”

This time Harry laughed for real. “That’s nothing. You should hear my authentic drawl. Bless my heart. Sweet tea. Biscuits an’ gravy,” he said with as thick an accent as he could muster. Even to his own ears it sounded clunky and awkward.

Malfoy put the empty water bottle on the table, moving slowly. “This is weird. You and me, in the same room. Chatting cordially with each other.”

“Sixth year me would never have believed it,” Harry said, and silently cursed because his voice sounded charmed and not at all snarky like he meant it to sound. 

Malfoy dropped his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. “This has been one hell of a day. It must be what? 9:00 at night?”

“Nice guess, but I doubt it’s much past noon.Wanna bet?” Harry checked the time on his phone and saw he had 10 text messages and one missed call. “Fuck! I have to call Dylan and let him know what’s up.” His stomach lurched at the thought of the fuss Dyl would make. Drama. Always so much drama with him. 

Harry thought he saw something pass across Malfoy’s face. “Hey, are you nauseated? Feeling faint?”

Malfoy shook his head slightly, but Harry knew he’d get the last word. Harry helped Malfoy stand. “Let’s get you out of those clothes and into bed.”

“I can’t imagine how long you’ve wanted to say those words to me, Potter.” 

If it were a typical year, Harry would have probably flipped Malfoy off and told him to fuck himself. But that was too much bad mojo for a year like 2020. “You have no idea,” was all Harry said before ushering Malfoy into the second bedroom and helping him out of his clothes and into a t-shirt and work out shorts. Harry tried not to stare at the pale ribbons of scars that crisscrossed Malfoy’s torso. 

He’d done that. He’d done that to Malfoy and then stepped away to let Snape fix it. Harry felt ill, overcome by shame. He lay his palm flat on Malfoy’s chest--something he was sure Malfoy wouldn’t have tolerated had he been 100%--and said, “I’m so sorry.”

Either Malfoy didn’t hear him or chose not to respond. Harry breathed out in relief. That was something for another time, he guessed. 

Harry turned down the bed, and once Malfoy was resting comfortably, Harry would check on Scorpius again. 

“Potter. Are you good? Do you need anything?” Malfoy asked into the pillow, as if he were still the host here. 

“Maybe just a bedtime story. You know--the one about The Saviour of the Wizarding World.” Harry tried to keep his voice sounding innocent, but it broke before he finished. 

Malfoy cracked one eyelid and said, “Fuck you, Potter.” But there was no heat behind it. 

Actually, Harry thought with a grin, Malfoy almost sounded amused.


	5. Explosive Dyl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry tells Dylan about being quarantined. It doesn't go well. 
> 
> Today's prompt: 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya'll . i hope this made sense. I'm so tired and i hope I didn't sleep type. I have been known to do that. Bless my heart.

Harry sat on the edge of the couch, staring at his phone on the glass coffee table. He needed to call Dylan and let him know he was quarantined. That he wouldn’t be home for at least a week. That there was a good chance he wouldn’t be home for Christmas. 

He could almost hear Dyl’s voice pitching up as he worked himself into a self-righteous rage. Harry picked up his phone, meant to dial but opened Twitter instead. He scrolled through his _Trending_ page. The top sports tweets, then the hot entertainment information. He switched to Instagram and thumbed through the IG Stories until he’d watched every one, including the ones he’d normally skip. He meant to dial, but he dropped the phone back onto the coffee table and just stared at it. 

There was no getting around it. He needed to man up and call Dylan. Harry wasn’t a coward; it was just that Dylan was going to make a scene, get so angry like he always did when Harry had to change plans. 

Harry dragged his palms down the front of his trousers and then picked up the phone, punching in the numbers more forcefully than necessary. As the phone rang on the other end, Harry was embarrassed to realize that he was hoping it went to voicemail.

No such luck. 

“Hey Dyl, it’s me,” Harry said hoping he kept the dread out of his voice. The cardinal had returned to the bush in front of the window. For a moment, Harry wished he were a bird and could just not have fingers to hold a phone. 

Dylan sounded bright and excited. “Hey, babe. You almost here? I made reservations at—no, I want to surprise you. But I will say it’s in Disney Springs. The reservations are for 1:30, but if you’re almost home we’ll make it no problem.” 

Harry tried to interrupt by Dylan bubbled over him. “I can’t believe I got us reservations at Morimoto’s, oh my god, I just told you! It’s almost impossible to get a table. It takes _months._ But I know one of the chefs there—we went out for a bit. He was happy to help me out.”

 _Nice. Love the way he threw that in there to get me jealous,_ Harry thought angrily flicking the lone ball on the ridiculously tiny Christmas tree. He bit the words back, not wanting a full row. What would already happen was gonna be bad enough. “Dyl, I—”

“Oh Harry. Please don’t say you haven’t left yet.” Dylan’s voice was full of disappointment and Harry squirmed at how much it sounded Aunt Petunia’s. “I guess I could meet you there, but I hate to have two cars—”

“Dylan,” Harry broke into the monologue. “I can’t make it. I—"

Dylan’s voice dripped with frigid sarcasm. “I’m shocked. Absofuckinglutely shocked. Why? What is it now?”

“Come on, don’t be like that. We’re quarantined here. I can’t tell whether the patient has the flu or Covid. Out of an abundance of caution—” 

“Fuck caution. You’re a goddamn doctor. How can you not tell the difference?”

 _There._ There went Harry’s patience. He might be a fuck up as a boyfriend, but he was a damn good doctor. “Are you fucking shitting me? It’s not like I have access to the tests, and even if I did it’s still going to take 5 to 7 days to get reliable results—” 

“Y’know Harry, it’s gettin’ harder to believe the lengths you’ll go to to avoid doing something with me.” Dylan’s voice was calm without even a small ripple. To Harry, that was worse than if he’d been yelling. 

“C’mon, Dylan. That’s not fair. You knew my job from the start. Part of being a concierge doctor means I have to stop what I’m doing—"

“Look, it’s whatever.” Dylan dismissed the conversation, leaving Harry feeling guilty and angry. “Just—when will you be home?”

“I told you. I’m quarantined for at least a week—”

Dylan’s snort of disbelief rang clearly through the phone. Harry took a deep breath and changed his tactic. “I know that you’ve put up with a lot the past six months. When I get home Christmas Day, we’ll go someplace just the two of us. I’ll get another doctor to cover for me. I’ll turn my phone off. I promise. We can go down to Key West and go into all those shops you’ve told me about. How’s that sound?” 

Dylan was silent, and just as Harry was going to say something ugly including the words _go fuck yourself,_.< Dylan said, “That sounds really nice. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be an ass, I just—"

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah, It will be nice to have a chance to be together.”p/>

He had no idea why he was still going out with Dylan, who at 22, was 6 years younger than Harry. With an ass and abs so beautiful they belonged in a museum.

“I love you,” Dylan said quietly, and Harry’s jaw dropped. 

They hadn’t said that yet, and it made Harry uncomfortable. He wasn’t there, didn’t know if he could get there. “Oh, my patient is up. I gotta go,” And Harry hung up before it was too obvious he didn’t have an answer.


	6. Two Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although he's dead on his feet, Draco is too worried about his son to even sleep. 
> 
> Photo prompt: 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Vague mention of controlling possibly abusive boyfriend. Draco explains that Astoria's boyfriend has unsavory ties and that she hasn't seen her friends in months.

“Well. This is delightfully awkward,” Malfoy said, standing on the edge of the suite’s living room wearing pajama bottoms and a threadbare T-shirt. He looked washed out especially against the deep brown wall. “I’ll just go back—” 

Harry thrust his phone into his trouser pocket. “I’m sorry. I should have stepped outside to make that call.”

“Trouble in paradise with Mr. Sunshine?” 

Harry didn’t know if Malfoy’s energy perked up or if he were imagining it. “Hardly.”

“Hardly trouble or hardly paradise?” Malfoy asked with a raised eyebrow.

Harry shrugged his shoulders with a smile and changed the subject. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

“I can’t.” Malfoy dropped onto the couch as if it took his last bit of energy. “I keep worrying about Scorpius. What if something happens to him because I was so stupid?”

Harry held up his hand. “Let’s not borrow worry. I’m going to order three of the Covid tests from the Muggle labs. We’ll have the results within 5 to 7 days.” He slid his phone out of his pocket to search for his lab connection.

“Can’t the Wizarding lab run it faster?” Malfoy’s voice was sharp, and Harry felt 11 years old again, with Malfoy judging everything he did. 

With a deep breath, Harry pushed those feelings aside. He wasn’t 11 anymore, and his reactions were on him. “I can, but do you want fast or do you want right? Besides, Muggle technology is better when it comes to these results.”

“You really _have_ gone native.”

It didn’t sound like an insult, but Harry wasn’t sure, and to be honest, didn’t quite know what to do with Malfoy when he wasn’t snapping at him. 

“Since I moved here three years ago, I live more like a Muggle. It makes things easier.” Before Malfoy could say anything nasty, Harry added, “Yes Mr. Sunshine is a Muggle.”

Malfoy took Harry’s phone from his hand and inspected the lock screen photo of Harry and Dylan posing in front of the Castle in Disney World. The park had been overflowing with sweaty adults, over-exhausted crying babies, and these monstrous body puppets who zoned in on him as if they could tell he wanted none of it. 

If he were being honest, Harry hated every single thing about Disney World. Manufactured happiness never appealed to him, and maybe it was because as a child he’d been thrown into trauma like hot metal plunged into a bucket of water, not acting but reacting. In the midst of everything, he’d had rare moments of true happiness—flying in the Anglia to Hogwarts, finding Sirius, dancing with Hermione in the tent that smelled of moth balls and stale biscuits. They were real not scripted, and even more special because of how hard he’d worked to have them. 

Dylan loved Disney.

“Doesn’t that make it incredibly difficult to live with someone? Why would you do that to yourself?” Malfoy asked, without any purebred snobbery Harry expected.

Harry grabbed his phone from Malfoy’s hand. Why did he have to ask questions like that? “Speaking of _why would you do that,_ how did you even get on the Portkey without a Covid test results?”

Malfoy yawned and then winced at the pain in his head. “The Malfoy name isn’t much, but it does hold sway in certain circumstances. That and a few hundred Galleons.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t—what was so important?”

Draco walked slowly to the kitchenette area and Harry followed him, wanting to be close just in case he couldn’t stay on his feet. “Scorpius’s mother has a new boyfriend with, shall we say, unsavory ties.” Draco took two bottles of water from the fridge and handed one to Harry. “In addition, Scorpius has mentioned a few things that led me to believe I wouldn’t want my son around him.”

Harry leaned back against the counter and took a long swig from his water bottle. 

“When he tells me he hasn’t seen his Aunt Pansy or Auntie Daphne in months, that’s a real red flag because Pansy and Astoria are like sisters, and Daphne is her actual sister. Not seeing them for a week is unusual; not seeing them for months is alarming.”

“Maybe she’s just busy,” Harry offered, nibbling the gingerbread cookie he’d picked up. 

“Potter, don’t be an idiot. These are all things I said to myself. But Scorpius has been telling me about this trip they’re planning. It’s supposed to be a secret, but he’s 7. He can’t keep a secret. Like how all their things are being moved into storage. What else am I supposed to think besides them doing a runner?”

Harry nodded in agreement. It did look obvious. “So you ran before they could? That can’t be legal?”

“I’m not stupid Potter. I have some contacts in the Aurors. They’re looking into his history. I fully believe they’ll find at least abuse. He’s a bully and probably a criminal, and Astoria is under his spell—probably figuratively, but there’s always the chance it is a spell of some sort. There’s a reason I have full-time custody.”

Harry let Malfoy talk. Maybe, if he got the words out into the open, he’d be able to get some sleep. 

“Astoria and I began casually dating out of Hogwarts, mostly to make our parents happy. A party here, a party there. A little champagne, a lovely evening. Nine months later, Scorpius was born. We were too young and too little in love to make our marriage work, not to mention too scarred from the War.

“The minute I laid eyes on Scorpius, he was everything to me. Astoria never wanted to be a mum. She wanted to be a wealthy debutant and believed the War had robbed her of the chance. We both got what we wanted.” Malfoy stared at Harry, almost daring him to disagree. 

“He seems like a great kid. Hopefully, when he wakes up he’ll be feeling better.” Harry finished his cookie and water and washed his hands in the kitchen sink. Disinfecting was going to be step two. 

Malfoy was almost dead on his feet, and Harry reckoned with being sick on top of Portkey Lag, Malfoy would sleep hard, maybe even until tomorrow morning. 

Getting Malfoy into bed would be step one.


	7. He's my friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The swabs come but what's this? Harry's homesick?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all. I was Literally falling asleep as I was writing this. Like sleep typing. So if something makes NO sense let me know lololol

Draco and Scorpius slept through lunch and slept through dinner. Their soup that Harry’d ordered from Wizarding Room Service had long since gone cold, but Harry didn’t mind. If they were sleeping then their bodies were either fighting or healing.

And less Malfoy mouth, for sure.

Late in the evening, when Harry had written up every patient chart that he’d been avoiding, when he’d played every match-three game on his phone easily a dozen times, when he’d ordered so many times from Room Service that he was sure the House Elves were shooting him the evil eye, the courier finally dropped the box of Covid tests on the front porch. 

Harry shivered as he brought the box inside. The air was crisp and biting at midnight, but by mid-morning it would be too warm. Harry usually loved living in Florida, but Christmas hit different in warm weather. He missed snow and cold and hot cocoa, missed building snowmen and flying through flurries with the snowflakes rushing toward him. Not even the twinkling, colored fairy lights in the windows made him feel better. 

Christmas still made him homesick for Hogwarts. Having Malfoy here with his British accent and his posh ways, and his stupid face and shared history made the longing worse. 

Harry closed the front door and tried to pull himself back to the present. He had a job to do, and once he completed these Covid tests, he could get some sleep. 

~*~

Harry completed the test on himself, scrubbed his hands clean, and decided he’d begin with Scorpius. 

He spelled the light on, using the dimmest setting and was surprised to find that at some point, Malfoy had migrated to Scorpius’ bed. Scorpius was snuggled into a ball with one hand out reaching for his dad as he slept.

Homesickness welled up, closing Harry’s throat. It was the homesickness and not the thought of a family—children and a husband who would love him thoroughly and deeply no matter what. And whom he would love as precious things. 

Harry tried to shake it off as he nudged them awake. But they looked so alike—their eyes thick with sleep, their hair wonky and messy—he thought he was beyond this desire for a family. He’d moved past it when he’d left England. Come to terms with being a bachelor. 

Yet, here he was. 

“Enough!” Harry whispered, convincing himself. “Time to work.”

“Who are you talking to, Potter?” Malfoy mumbled into his pillow.

“I have the tests and some food if you think you can eat.” 

As Scorpius and Malfoy pulled themselves into something resembling sitting up in bed, Harry slowly unwrapped the package with the first test. Careful not to contaminate anything, he slipped his clean hands into the gloves and unscrewed the swab from the tube.

“Scorpius, I’m going to swipe the inside of your nose with this cotton swab and try to get some of your boogers.” Strictly speaking that wasn’t true, but it made Scorpius laugh and that had been Harry’s goal. “I have a special spell that will make your nose all numb. The only problem is, you won’t be able to pretend you’re a bunny for maybe the next hour.”

Harry wrinkled up his nose and bit his lip in his best approximation of a rabbit. Scorpius copied him, and as he was biting into a make-believe carrot, Harry asked him, “Do you remember our colors?”

“Green,” Scorpius said with more energy than Harry had expected. 

Malfoy hadn’t spoken, hadn’t tried to butt in. But he was watching Harry with a weird look on his face. 

Harry waved his hand toward Scorpius’ face and waited until he knew the spell had taken effect. As Harry positioned Scorpius’ head, Malfoy took his son’s hand and spoke quietly to soothe him. Harry swabbed up into his nasal cavity on both sides. When he was done, Harry slid the applicator back into the tube and sealed it into the specimen baggie. 

“Your turn, Papa. And I was brave, so you have to be, too!”

Malfoy looked wary. “A numbing spell?”

Harry looked at Scorpius and winked. To his surprise, Scorpius winked back. “I don’t know, Malfoy. Numbing spells are just for good boys.”

“Oh, I can be a good boy, Potter,” Malfoy preened, and then it seemed to dawn on him what he’d said. His face flamed with embarrassment, and he stuttered trying to back track what he’d said. “I mean, I deserve the numbing spell.”

“I don’t know. You dirtied your jumper, you slept through dinner—I don’t make the rules here,” Harry said, shrugging in a _what can you do?_ way.

“Well, who does make the rules!” Malfoy squawked, which Harry thought was a show for Scorpius. 

“I do!” Scorpius raised his hand high in the air. “Me!”

“What do you say?” Harry asked, conspiratorially. “Should we help him out?”

“I don’t know. He has been a little yelly today.” Scorpius rubbed his chin, but then added, “I guess we can help him. He’s a nice guy.”

“He is a nice guy,” Harry agreed and waved his hand toward Malfoy’s face.

“Dat’s bedder,” Malfoy said, but when Scorpius heard him, his giggles turned into rolling laughter. “Podder, jusd do da test.” He tried to demand that Harry listen to him, but Harry was laughing as hard as Scorpius. 

They finally finished the swabs, and as Harry called his courier to pick them up, Malfoy called room service for warm chicken soup and soda crackers.  
Scorpius begged to watch late night telly, and Malfoy agreed on the condition that he eat something. Anything. He sat Scorpius on his lap at the kitchenette table, and when the soup appeared on the table, Scorpius ate a few spoonfuls before pushing his bowl aside. Draco didn’t argue. He just moved the bowl aside so Scorpius wouldn’t fall asleep in it. 

Harry sat with them, nursing a cup of lukewarm tea. The fairy lights in the kitchenette window blinked on and off, giving Scorpius’ hair rainbow colors. 

“You’re very good with him,” Malfoy said quietly so he wouldn’t wake Scorpius. “He doesn’t open up to a lot of people.”

“He’s a good kid, Malfoy.” Harry hesitated then said, “You’ve done a great job raising him.”

Malfoy’s grin broke across his face. “You mean that?”

And Harry found that he did. “Yeah. He’s pretty terrific.”

Malfoy was silent for a few minutes, and Harry just drank his tea. 

“I owe you an apology, Potter. I was an asshole in school. I’ve already apologized to Granger and Weasley. Longbottom, too. For being a pompous, pretentious ass.”

Harry thought about it. “I apologize also, Malfoy. I was paranoid at Hogwarts. I thought you were always up to something. You deserved better than that.”

Malfoy stared at Harry. “I never would have thought we could sit together and have a casual conversation.”

“Since we can,” Harry said, standing up with the one empty bowl, “You should probably call me Harry.”

“Harry?” Draco said, as if he were rolling the word around in his mouth. “Nope. Seems suspicious.” Potter laughed and Malfoy added, “And you can call me Draco.”

Twelve hours ago, Harry had plans to go on a last minute weekend with his live in boyfriend who was wrong for Harry. Harry knew it but didn’t want to be alone. 

Now, Harry had a new friend. An old one to be sure, but also it was something new. He watched Draco carry Scorpius back to the bedroom and waited for him to get back. 

“More soup? A cup of tea?” Harry asked when Draco got returned. 

“No, I’m good,” Draco said smiling at Harry. “I’m okay for now.”

Despite everything, Harry was okay, too.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the Fall Out Boy song, [Hold Me Tight or Don't](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jG1JY0rt2Os)


End file.
